


Needles & Pins

by hjea



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller - Freeform, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjea/pseuds/hjea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon, Illya, and Gaby are hiking through a mountain pass. It is freezing, it is wet, and they have one tent. Oh joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needles & Pins

**Author's Note:**

> This is well and truly gen, but can be read as Illya/Gaby or Illya/Gaby/Napoleon. One day I will commit to one but for now... reader's choice. ;)
> 
> All my thanks to Xtine who has, with much forbearance, been editing my ramblings for years and provided a much-needed ending for this. Thanks also to Marlene for the German suggestions.

Napoleon was really beginning to hate this mountain.

 

The wet snow lashed their faces in earnest as they crested the rise, and he tried in vain to bury himself further into his coat. Over the top of his collar he squinted sideways towards Illya, who was standing looking down at their hand-drawn map, and then ahead along the path, nearly impassive in the face of the elements except for the slightly pinched look around his mouth.

 

“Peril?” The wind whipped Napoleon’s words away, and he had to shout to get the other man’s attention. “Should we keep going? We’re through the pass now.”

 

Illya’s brow creased, and he snuck a look over his shoulder to where Gaby was walking still a few yards behind them--with her considerably shorter legs, she was having a harder time than Napoleon and Illya with struggling through the snow piling up in drifts.

 

Gaby reached them after a minute, huffing mightily as she bent over, hands on her knees, to catch her breath. “Well boys? Not stopping on my account are you?”

 

Her voice was teasing as usual, but even in the dimming light Napoleon could see her face had gone pale and drawn from fatigue and the cold. They had set out before eight that morning and even with Illya’s precisely calculated rest stops, it had been hard work climbing to the pass. Napoleon would have happily collapsed then and there, but if Gaby wasn’t going to say anything then he certainly wouldn’t.

 

Illya finally spoke. “I think we should stop for the night.”

 

Gaby straightened and lifted her chin stubbornly,  but Illya waved his hand dismissively. “It is best for all of us. We’re over worst part of it, but we’re losing light and the snow is getting worse.” Illya pointed down the path. “It looks as though there is a more sheltered spot that way. We have the tent, so we get good night’s rest, start off early tomorrow. Still plenty of time.”

 

Napoleon looked at Gaby who, tellingly, didn’t argue.

 

He clapped his hands together decisively. “Great idea, Peril! And here I was about to suggest you carry us the rest of the way down the mountain like our own little Ruskie pack mule. But this works too.”

 

Gaby snorted in amusement while Illya rolled his eyes heavenward and swore at him.

 

There was a stand of stunted trees five minutes' walk down the path that Illya declared was as sheltered as they were likely to get, and the two men made quick work of setting up the tent while Gaby dug three unlabeled cans and a can opener out of her pack, cracking one open and gulping its contents down without ceremony. Napoleon accepted his reluctantly, trying not to think too hard about the rack of lamb he’d enjoyed in Buenos Aires only five days ago.

 

After eating, Illya threw all the packs into the tent and waved them both inside, following behind on his knees to shut it up as tightly as he could. Inside, Gaby’s head brushed against the ceiling while Napoleon hunched his shoulders to try to fit comfortably. Illya would have had to bend nearly in half to make himself fit, but that with the two of them standing there was no room for him at all.

 

Napoleon sighed and shrugged out of his wet coat. “Well. Isn’t this cozy?”

 

Illya crouched near the packs again, and after rattling around with God only knew what produced a small lamp that he lit and carefully passed to Gaby, who hung it from the middle of the tent pole. The lamp cast the tent in warm yellow light and Napoleon felt himself relax minutely, thinking the night ahead might not be as uncomfortable as he had feared.

 

Though it made the cramped tent somewhat more hospitable, the lamp also cast Gaby’s face in stark relief; Napoleon noted in concern how pale she still was and how hard she was shivering despite her attempts to hide it. “Gaby?” He asked. She turned to him. “You’re shivering.”

 

Illya’s head snapped up at his words, and Gaby scowled at Napoleon. “It’s cold out!” she replied defensively, but he could see her shoulder’s shaking even through the thick material of her coat. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

“Gaby,” Illya echoed reproachfully, and Gaby sighed.

 

“And perhaps my feet got a little wet. The snow got in over the top of my boots.”

 

Illya tutted and quickly grabbed one of the bed rolls, flicking it open and motioning for Gaby to sit down. He tugged her boots and her damp socks off and wrapped his hands around her bare toes.

 

“Frozen,” he declared accusingly. Gaby shrugged, half-defiance and half-guilt.

 

Illya growled under his breath as he sat down cross legged in front of her and pulled her feet into his lap, beginning to rub them vigorously. “Stupid.”

 

Given that Illya could glower with every muscle in his body, Napoleon moved out of the way and left him to it, toeing off his own boots and setting himself to laying out the rest of the tarps and blankets as unobtrusively as he could in the small confines of the tent.

 

“Is stupid not to say anything," Illya continued, scolding. “If you had gotten frostbite and could no longer walk, what would have happened to the mission? We all have obligation not to jeopardize mission.”

 

He punctuated his last sentence with a glare at Napoleon, who raised his hands defensively. “Hey don’t get mad at me, mine are dry as a bone.” He waved his socked feet at Illya.

 

Gaby chuckled at Napoleon and he was relieved to see her face was already gaining its colour back. She turned her attention back to Illya who was still massaging her feet angrily. “Illya,” Gaby’s voice dropped to a lower placating tone. “I am sorry. I just didn’t want you thinking I was some weak--”

 

“Is not because you’re a woman,” Illya cut her off, his own voice softening despite himself. “We know how strong you are, how more than capable.” He paused, and looked at Gaby imploringly. “We all have limits and should tell each other when we reach them. And none are immune to freezing.”

 

“Really, Peril?” Napoleon broke in, cutting the tension he could feel building between his companions. “I thought for sure the KGB had chipped you out of a glacier.”

 

This time both Illya and Gaby rolled their eyes in unison; Napoleon grinned unapologetically.

 

Gaby hissed then, and wincing drew her feet back from Illya’s grip and stretched her toes. “Are you all right?” Illya asked.

 

“Yes.” She winced again and muttered under her breath, “ _mein Fuß kribbelt_.”

 

Napoleon finished laying out their bedding and peeked his head over Gaby’s shoulder. “Pins and needles.”

 

Both Gaby and Illya gave him a puzzled look. “What?”

 

“When your hands or feet hurt and tingle like that. It’s called pins and needles.”

 

“I haven’t heard that before. I like it.” Gaby rubbed the top of her foot, fingers bumping against Illya’s hand. “It does feel like lots of little pins stabbing you.”

 

“Is good sign.” Illya squeezed Gaby’s feet once more before withdrawing his hands completely. He reached into a pack behind him and pulled out a giant pair of thick wool socks that he handed to Gaby. “Will do us no good if your feet go back to frozen.”

 

Gaby looked absurdly amused as she pulled on the socks, which looked so ridiculous on her that Napoleon was tempted to dig the camera out and document the whole sorry affair.

 

“I think they suit you, Gaby.” Napoleon declared, and snickered as Gaby hummed her agreement while wiggling her wool-swathed toes against Illya’s thigh.

 

Illya blushed on cue and quickly got to his knees, dislodging Gaby’s feet so they hit the tent floor with a muffled thump. “We should go to sleep.”

 

Gaby scooted to the middle of the sleeping rolls Napoleon had laid side-by-side and slid in, wrapping the wool blanket tightly around herself so that only her nose poked out. She waited as Illya slid under his own--which didn’t quite reach his armpits--and then rolled towards him and fit herself snugly against his side. Illya froze, and then hesitatingly wrapped an arm around Gaby’s shoulders and drew her closer. With a breathy sigh of contentment, she tucked her head under his chin. “ _Дерьмо_ ,” Illya hissed, “your nose is cold.” Whatever Gaby said in reply was muffled against his neck.

 

Napoleon was suddenly very conscious of the fact that--had he been anywhere but in a small canvas structure with a snowstorm blowing around outside--this would have been long past the point where he would have made a rather pointed quip, winked, and quickly excused himself.

 

Illya coughed. “Uh, Solo. Can you--the lamp?”

 

“Yeah sure thing.” Napoleon stood as best he could, and opened the lamp to blow the wick out. The tent was immediately pitch black, and noticeably chillier, and Napoleon dropped back to his knees and awkwardly tried to feel his way into his bed. He finally managed it and scooted down to try and find a comfortable spot, feet bumping against the edge of the tent.

 

“Are you settled yet?” Gaby asked, her voice still muffled against Illya’s solid bulk. Napoleon was about to answer her when he felt her hand groping along the edge of his blanket. She got a hold and tugged him closer, not satisfied until he was curled snugly along her back.

 

Gaby sighed happily, “that’s better.” Napoleon agreed. The warmth shared between the three of them was already loosening his cold limbs and making him feel pleasantly drowsy. He stretched a little and then tried to tuck his feet under Gaby’s calves.

 

“Nuh-uh.” Gaby drew away. “They may be dry but your feet are still cold. And you’re letting air in.”

 

“Sorry, Fräulein. Not all of us have a freakishly large Russian masseuse to warm our feet for us.”

 

Gaby laughed softly. “I do recommend him. He’s quite good.”

 

“You wouldn’t enjoy my methods, Cowboy.” Illya’s voice rumbled ominously in the darkness.

 

Napoleon could never resist a challenge and he stretched his legs around the warm lump of Gaby until he could poke Illya’s shin with his toes. “I might.”

 

Illya heaved a long-suffering sigh as Gaby hid another outburst of giggles into his chest. “All right. Is enough now. Everyone go to sleep.”

 

Napoleon grinned. And yawned. And did just that.

 

 


End file.
